


Sandor Claus Is Coming...

by mynameisnoneya



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blow Jobs, Christmas Fluff, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Office Blow Jobs, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-08
Updated: 2016-12-08
Packaged: 2018-09-07 07:57:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8789833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mynameisnoneya/pseuds/mynameisnoneya
Summary: It's Christmas time in Westeros, and Sandor Clegane is desperate to avoid being saddled with the Santa Claus gig at Qarth-Mart this year.  Will he be able to resist his lovely coworker, Sansa Stark, who decides to utilize her extremely persuasive charms?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Although this is my first time posting a work, this is actually not the first work that I wrote. If it were not for the encouragement of my dear friend and beta, vivilove, I would never have had the courage to post anything!
> 
> General disclaimer: GoT characters and quotes belong to GRMM - I own nor claim nothing!
> 
> Please be gentle with the virgin...ease me into your comments. If you enjoyed it, please let me know by leaving kudos!

“Fucking hell, woman!” Sandor hissed as he paced the length of the deserted break room, “No!  I won’t do it!”  His eyes darted quickly to the enormous mass of red and white fur draped across one of the dining tables.

“Please, Sandor,” Sansa insisted, reaching out to grab his enormous bicep, stopping him in his tracks, “It’s just for a couple of hours.”

Sandor looked like an animal caught in a trap, desperate to find an escape.  “Get Bronn’s sorry ass to wear it!” he bellowed, “He wore the bloody thing last year.”

“Sandor, listen to me,” she said with a roll of her crystal blue eyes, “You know as well as I do that this is _not_ the same suit that we used last year.  There was a mix up with the rental company.  Bronn is several inches shorter than you, so this suit will be much too long on him.” 

_The cunt will laugh his ass off for sure…_

“How about Drogo?” Sandor offered, hoping to pass the proverbial buck to his pretty-boy drinking buddy who worked down in the warehouse, “He’s almost my size.  And he’s good with kids.  Surely he’d be a better choice.”

“Yes, he would be a fantastic choice,” Sansa agreed, “But, he’s gone home to Essos already.”

“Tormund?” he pleaded, his steel-gray eyes boring into hers, “He’s crazy enough to do it.”

“Gone home already too, I’m afraid.”

“I’m going to fucking kill that dwarf for this,” Sandor seethed through gritted teeth, “The bastard probably did this on purpose.”

“Now, you and I both know that Tyrion would not have ordered a suit this size intentionally,” Sansa chastised him as she held up the hideously large suit by its hanger, wrinkling her nose as she inspected it, “Frankly, I’m still in shock that they even _make_ one this large.”

“I wouldn’t put it past the little imp,” Sandor huffed in annoyance.  He knew that Tyrion loved to needle him any chance he got, his most recent coup being Sandor’s promotion to head of security at Qarth-Mart, a position Sandor neither asked for nor wanted in the first place.

“Just so you know, the line of kids is already wrapping around the building and down the block,” Sansa chirped, taking the suit off the hanger and laying it back on the table, “We need to hurry and get you ready since “Santa’s Workshop” opens in twenty minutes.”  As she turned to face Sandor, her hands on her hips, she narrowed her eyes at him and studied him as if he were under a microscope.

“Oh, no, you don’t!  I didn’t agree to anything!” Sandor virtually shouted, defensively holding his hands up to block her from touching him.  He knew that look.  That was the look of a woman who fully intended to ignore his refusal and planned to steamroll him into submission.  As always, Sansa remained completely unfazed, grabbing the offending item, marching forward, batting his hands away as she held the suit up to his extremely tall, well-built form.

“Is there really no one else in this damn building who can do this?” Sandor grumbled, desperately making one last attempt to hold his ground, knowing full-well that he would eventually concede defeat just to please her, “And why me?  Haven’t you _seen_ my ugly face?  You can’t be serious, Sansa!  The little buggers will run in terror when they lay eyes on me.”

“You do know, Mr. Clegane, in order to get you dressed for such an event, you must first get _undressed…_ ” she said, her tongue darting out to run across her bottom lip.

_Wait…what?  Well, now, this suddenly became a whole lot more interesting…_

A devious look engulfed her gorgeous face, her blood-red lips stretching into a lascivious grin, Sansa began stroking his muscular chest through his black button-down shirt.  “And yes, I’ve seen your face plenty,” she purred, using one finger to trace the outline of the scars marring the right side of his face, “And I especially love seeing this handsome face when it’s parked between my legs.”

That particular comment sent a surge of blood southward.  “Is that so?” Sandor rasped, his eyes closing as she lowered her touch, now lightly running her fingers through the patch of dark, coarse chest hair that was exposed at his neckline.

“Mm-hmm,” she continued, her hands now splayed across his taught stomach, “And maybe, just maybe, if you stop your tantrum and play nice for me, I’ll be a little naughty for you.”  Sansa punctuated her promise by trailing her hand to his burgeoning erection that was begging to be released from the confines of his dress slacks.  Giving him a playful squeeze, his gasp echoing in the small room, Sansa smiled wickedly.

“You’re not playing fair, little bird,” Sandor groaned as she began to stroke him through his pants.

“When do I ever?” she replied in return, leaning close to him, standing on her toes, whispering in his ear.

“Pretty little thing, and such a bad liar,” Sandor growled, smacking her hand away from his aching member, stalking forward, backing her up until she bumped into the wall near the refrigerator.  He leaned forward, caging her between his arms as he propped himself against the wall, his hands on either side of her head.  Sansa quickly reached for Sandor’s leather belt, skillfully undoing the buckle.

“You don’t think I’d do it?” Sansa dared, raising one perfectly manicured copper eyebrow in challenge as she deftly unbuttoned and unzipped his slacks, reaching inside to fondle his rock-hard erection.  “Hmm, it looks like you’re about to get your Christmas present a few days early.”  Aroused beyond belief, Sandor gazed downward, taking in the sight of Sansa’s pale eyes, now blown wide with lust, her ample chest heaving slightly as she tried to steady her breathing.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Sandor groaned, staring into her bright blue eyes wrought with mischief.

“I absolutely would,” she replied in a throaty voice.  With one swift motion, Sansa hiked her leather pencil skirt up mid-thigh, dropping to her knees right there on the tile floor of the break room.  Grinning from ear-to-ear, Sansa yanked down his boxers and slacks.

Sandor, who prided himself on regularly getting the last word in when verbally sparring with his beautiful red-headed girlfriend, found himself at a complete loss for words.  _Bloody buggering fuck, she’s not…she can’t mean to…_

“Sansa!” he croaked as she took him into her mouth, licking the base of his cock from root to tip, trailing along the thick vein.  “Sansa, love, _please_ ,” he once again tried speaking, still bracing himself against the wall behind her as she kissed the tip, “The door…it’s not…it’s not locked!”

Apparently, Sansa did not mind the thought of one of their colleagues walking in on them at any minute.  She began sucking his long cock, using one hand to pump and one hand to massage his sack, with such gusto that Sandor felt his knees start to buckle.  Relentlessly, Sansa continued her oral ministrations, looking upward, meeting his stare of amazement as she hollowed out her cheeks, moaning softly.

“Fucking…fuck,” was all Sandor managed to spit out, lost both in the sensations Sansa was inciting throughout his body as well as the sheer excitement of watching her perform such an illicit act at 8:43 AM in their employer’s break room.  Finally able to extract one of his hands from the wall, it found its way to her hair, clasping the back of her head, holding on tightly as she silently demanded that he fuck her mouth.

Sandor’s eyes just about rolled into the back of his head when she braced herself, holding onto his chiseled hips with both hands, leaning forward to swallow him until her nose brushed up against his stomach right above the nest of thick, dark hair surrounding his manhood.

“Sansa!” he cried, biting his lip to muffle the sound, coming fast and hard, his cock pulsing his seed down her throat.  For a moment, Sandor lost track of where he was, his eyes slammed shut and his brain clouded by a post-orgasmic fog.  When he finally opened his eyes, Sansa was rising from her position on the floor, lowering her skirt back into a place of decency.  She definitely made a show of licking the last vestiges of his cum from her lips.

“Give me the damn suit,” he chuckled darkly as he stuffed his now sated manhood back into his underwear, “You win.”

“I knew I could convince you that you’d make a fantastic Santa,” Sansa declared as she held out the hideous, furry ensemble.

Sandor snatched the suit from her well-manicured hands, walking over to the break room door to lock it shut.  “We’ll see if you’re so damn proud of yourself when Tywin comes down from his iron throne at corporate long enough to fire you for having me scare the kids this morning.”

“Quit worrying,” she beamed as she watched him begin to undress, first removing his dress shirt.  Drinking in the sight of his broad, muscular, hairy chest and stomach, she squeezed her thighs together as she said, “They won’t care about your scars, Sandor.  They’ll only see Santa Claus.”

“Yeah, right,” he grumbled as he tugged off his dress slacks, “I’m sure.”

Finally dressed in his red, furry battle armor, Sandor slipped the long, white beard over his own dark one, placing the obnoxious hat on his head for the final touch.

“Well?” he asked, stretching out his arms for appraisal, feeling like a total fool.  A 6’8” total fool who was stuffed into perhaps the world’s largest Santa suit.

“Perfect!” Sansa praised, taking him by his furry, black gloved hand, leading him to the door.  “The kids are going to absolutely love you,”  She stopped, still holding on to the door knob, turning to face him.  “But they’ll never love you as much as I do, _Sandor Claus_.”

Sandor gritted his teeth, trying not to show her any signs that he actually thought her little play on words was funny.  _Fuck it,_ he thought, _might as well roll with it._   “You’ll be getting coal in your stocking this year, Miss Stark.  You’ve been a terribly naughty girl.”

“Really?” she shot back defiantly with a grin.

“Oh, yes,” Sandor rasped, leaning down low enough to whisper directly into her ear, “So naughty, in fact, that when I’m through listening to all of those little buggers beg for some cheap plastic toy from China, I’m pulling _you_ into my lap and performing all sorts of unspeakable acts on you.  Suit stays on, by the way.” 

“I…you…” she stammered in shock, the idea obviously swirling around her pretty little head as he smacked her right on the ass.

“Remember…I see you when you’re sleeping, and I know when you’re awake,” he started singing as he reached across her, jerking open the door, “I know when you’ve been bad or good, little bird, so be good…“

“Oh, for goodness sake!” they heard Margaery Tyrell, one of Sansa’s buddies and coworkers in ladies’ fashions, exclaim, her hand covering her mouth in laughter as they exited the breakroom and headed toward the toy department.

“Wow, you don’t see _that_ every day,” Shae, a colleague from the make-up department muttered in shock as Sandor and Sansa walked by her, hand in hand.

“Hey, Clegane,” yet another person called out, “Are you still doing the Little Drummer Boy, or do you and Rudolph have a thing going?” _Meryn Fucking Trant.  Of course he’d have something snarky to say, the annoying little bastard._

“Fuck off, the lot of you!” Sandor yelled as he sat down on the enormous red velvet throne, wiggling his posterior in an attempt to get comfortable in the slightly too-small chair, “You’d better watch out!  Sandor Claus has come to town.”  The look of merriment on Sansa’s pretty, freckled face was definitely worth a couple hours of torture.  And her punishment that would follow would _definitely_ be worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> I bet you'll never look at a department store Santa the same way after reading this, right?


End file.
